This town of drunk Christians

The bakery opens as a man hunches 

over his motorcycle and shoulders 

into the August exhaust.

His wife nurses a cup of creamfoam 

outside the cafe—her last sanctuary

of the morning.

Children hit baseballs 

over my head toward

students leaving home again.

So summer ends 

with broken glass and a new

ream of university letterhead.

The researcher lives in the basement

of this goodhearted town where my
waitress drinks at her own bar.

    

An arsonist tunes his truck radio

and accelerates.  Under white smoke,

I met them all.

 

Heat comes and lifts 

Norman from the plains like a storm

cell of self-contained fervor.

This town of drunk Christians 

sings a last hallelujah

in late-morning sleep.